


Into Motion

by solitariusvirtus



Series: Fading Heartbeats [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bastard!Lyanna, Cheating, Extramarital Affairs, Gen, Immorality, Middle Ages, Targaryen!Lyanna
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-20
Updated: 2017-01-26
Packaged: 2018-05-15 04:53:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5772067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solitariusvirtus/pseuds/solitariusvirtus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the wake of Joanna Lannister's wedding to her cousin, Twyin Lannister, and his own wife's recent miscarriage, Aerys Targaryen finds himself heading to the wild North at the invitation of Lord Rickard Stark. There he comes upon new sorrow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

 

 

 

 

 

A cold wind blew through the deserted hallway, bushing against everything in its path. The ice-cold fingers of a winter's night had wrapped themselves around every surface, chasing away the last vestiges of warmth with a cruel determination that seemed not to dwindle even in the flickering light of torches, their meagre fire unable to restore any sort of balance. Snow had been falling for days on end, leaving a blanket of pure white for the rays of the morning sun to witness.

The beauty of it, however, was lost to Aerys Targaryen whose only thoughts revolved around the one woman who had stolen his hear away and refused to give it back. "Joanna," he pleaded with the tall, lean figure wrapped in a thick cloak.

The woman stood to her full height, a proud statue of marble in a sea of snow. Only her bright golden hair and the deep red of her dress cast a spot of colour on the otherwise pristine scenery. She drew away from the man and shook her head. "You know 'tis not possible. From now on, we walk on different roads. I must wed my cousin and you must care for this realm, Your Majesty," she said, quite without feeling. Or at least it sounded so in the ears of Aerys Targaryen.

He cursed the day the crown had fallen to him and then he cursed the day his father decided to wed him to Rhaella. A more absurd match could not have been conceived had it been expertly attempted by fools and jugglers. "Is there nothing I can say that might change you mind?"

A slow smile bloomed on Joanna's lips. "Nay. It is the way of the world, Your Majesty. I can well bear the burden that has been placed upon my shoulders." She pulled the cloak tighter about herself and shivered lightly in the coolness of the atmosphere, "You would not ask me to speak a lie, would you?" At the shake of his head, she nodded hers. "Then I am bound by duty and heart alike to tell you that nothing shall ever change my mind."

He had known as much. Aerys glanced at her with regret. His mind scrambled for even a hint of escape, for anything that might make her pause and reconsider her course. He tried to find a trace of the faintest encouragement in her gaze, but all he met was a stone wall in his path. Joanna Lannister gazed at him with unfeeling orbs of deep green. Her thin lips had turned pale, almost blue, and her porcelain skin shone in the dim light. Yet there was nothing warm about her, nothing that even suggested that within her chest beat a human heart.

It was Tywin's doing, of that Aerys was certain. The more time Joanna spent in the man's company, the more she withdrew from him, until, at the very end, she had coldly announced that she would be Tywin's bride and thus she could no longer remain in King's Landing, not for herself, nor the Queen, and not even for Aerys himself, whom she had sworn to that she would never abandon him. How cruel she was, like a knife that had struck between ribs and began forcing its way deeper and deeper towards his heart. Indeed, Joanna Lannister was such a blade, sharpened by none other than Tywin himself.

"Then, my dear lady," Aerys began with a heavy heart and subdued emotion, "I wish to you all the best. And I hope you never come to regret the decision you have made on this night."

Ah, but he had known, confound it, Aerys considered as he watched Joanna walks away, even the darkness of her cloak becoming one with the eerie emptiness inside of him after she could no longer be seen through the shadow. Aerys did not dare move for some time, waiting, hoping.

But all came to naught, for Joanna having made up her mind would not return. It was for the best. Perhaps the Seven had meant it to be so. Aerys' lips drew in a thin, humourless smile. The Seven had yet to listen to any of his requests and he had asked for so very little of them.

It seemed his destiny lose those he longed for most. Aerys was however very much aware that as much as he loved Joanna, to her he was a curiosity. He'd known it since the very beginning. She had wanted to know what it was like to be revered and given every deference. Aerys had made it so that she did. She had perhaps tired of it or she really did love Tywin. That the King could not answer. Yet it was clear to him that he had lost Joanna Lannister. And the realisation pained him. For to him she had been more than a pretty smile.

"May the Seven keep you," he whispered to the wind, hoping that it would carry the message. There was nothing more to be said and nothing else to wait for.

Somehow, he found find the strength to move on, even if it took him the better part of his life. Aerys promised himself that whatever pain Joanna provoked to him, he would hide it away from the world. After all, he was neither the first, nor the last to have been a victim of the endless war between duty and the heart. Thus he would not recoil from what he knew must be one.

Rhaella was waiting. And she would know, in her infinite wisdom, what to say to him. Aerys gave one last glance at the dark hall. He took a deep breath, rubbed his hands together for warmth and turned his back on the sight.

If he remained much longer in the merciless cold he would end up an icicle, which was not on his list of preferred methods of spending his time. Aerys took one step, then another and after it a third one. The more steps he took, the easier it became, though never effortless, despite that.

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Rhaella held him in her arms and spoke not a word. She had been waiting for him, lying awake in bed. When he'd entered her rooms, Aerys had thought her to be asleep, but she had swiftly disabused him, of the notion by raising her head and looking at him. Unlike his own chambers, Rhaella had had hers awash in light. Candles burned along with torched and she had simply waited for him in silence as was her custom.

Ever patient, she gazed at him questioningly but did not protest when she slipped beneath the sheets with her. Aerys threw one arm around her and pulled her close, eager for warmth and compassion. If there had ever been an ounce of understanding between siblings than Aerys believed that he and Rhaella had quite enough understanding between the two of them to make for a comfortable marriage.

Not unlike may of their predecessors, the brother and sister had been wedded to one another. However, this time disregarding the desire to keep the line pure, the motivation behind the move had been the mere words of a mad witch who knew not what she spoke. But it had been done nonetheless and Aerys wed Rhaella, long before he had met Joanna Lannister or even heard of her name.

Despite there not being a romantic affection between brother and sister, they had been driven by their duty to do all they could to make a success of their marriage. In that, at least, they had done well. It was a relief to know that at least that much had been accomplished.

"She is leaving?" Rhaella questioned finally after she settled herself against him in a most comfortable position. His feelings for Joanna were not unknown to her. The seriousness of his assurances had induced even level-headed Rhaella to believe him when he spoke of his fondness for her soon-to-be- former lady-in-waiting.

"So she claims," Aerys replied, stroking a silver strand of hair out of his sister's face. He was so close to her that her warm breath fanned against his neck and collarbone, as she'd hidden her face from his eyes. "I thought that I might yet stop her."

"Some things," she began, her embrace growing tight, "are not meant to be." It was scant comfort, but it seemed to be the best she could offer. "I do wish it were all different," Rhaella whispered softly. It was a wish they both shared, but seldom voiced, for there was little purpose to it.

Aerys hummed in agreement. "If wished were horses beggar would ride," he replied in a quiet manner, drawing strength from Rhaella's silent support. His sister had never been one to show her emotions. Many claimed she had none to show in the first place, but Aerys knew they were wrong. Rhaella was simply not interested in allowing the world to witness her feelings and reactions. "We are to be pitied, are we not, sister dearest?"

"Do not despair," his sister sighed, "for though we may be pitiable, we are not yet pitiful." And fro, time to time she was an optimist as well. Aerys had the strangest desire to laugh just then. So he allowed himself to do so. "There, do you see my meaning? So long as you can laugh like that I will not pity you."

"And after?" he asked. "When I can no longer laugh?" He stroked her hair gently, moving so that he could see her face, meeting the dark amethyst of her gaze with his light lilac. "What shall you do then?"

"I will suffer with you," she shrugged. "Have I ever done differently?" Rhaella burrowed herself deeper into his side and inhaled quietly. Whatever weight had settled upon her shoulders, she was attempting to dismiss it so she could better concentrate on her brother.

Aware of that, Aerys pulled away completely and gave her an odd look. "What it is, Rhaella? You are uneasy." He did not wish for her to be uneasy. At least not with him. She was the only person who had been by his side through every rise and fall of the road. It was unnatural for her to fear him.

His sister stare was unwavering as she too broke from her current position. "I feared speaking of it, least I should be wrong, but, brother, I think I am with child again." She looked at him both hopeful and fearful of what would pass from that point onward.

"Have you seen the maester?" The question slipped past his lips with accustomed easy. Rhaella made it so very difficult not to worry over her. She had the dreadful habit of admitting to things only at the last possible moment, just when there was no denying it any longer.

When she was yet carrying their first child â€“ she had been little more than a child herself at that time â€“ it had seemed to Aerys a monstrous thing to do to a girl. But, as he found it at the moment, the thought of Rhaella giving him another child was soothing, joyful even. It would fill the whole left within him if anything could.

"I have not." That had been expected. Aerys nodded slowly. "I thought I might wait some more. To be certain." There was always a burning desire for certainty within his sister. It would be comical if it wasn't rather annoying at the moment. "Come, brother, you know I cannot simply make claims as I wish without anything to support them with." Many a queen had been in some trouble for such claims. Aerys scowled at herm though he meant little by it.

"And when shall I have the honour of knowing for sure if you do carry my child or not?" he demanded.

"When the time is right," the young woman answered sagely, returning her arms around him in one graceful move. "Rhaegar shall be happy to hear it. Don't you think?"

"Certainly," Aerys muttered. "If we manage to tear him away from those blasted books." His only son had the unfortunate tendency to enjoy books just a little too much for all he was not yet tall enough to sit a full grown horse. "I tell you, Rhaella, we must not allow for it to become a habit."

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

He could not stand King's Landing for a moment longer. Aerys gazed with wonder at the Grand Maester, his eyes narrowing as the words left the old man's mouth. "There is nothing to be done, Your Majesty. The Queen has lost the child."

"And what would be the cause? Why would a healthy woman lose a child with such ease?" he demanded harshly of the man, grabbing him by the shoulder, barely reigning in the impulse to shake him.

She had been fine. He knew she had been fine. Rhaella was not a woman who complained much. For when she did not speak, she was enjoying a book and when no book was to be found in her hands, she was working with needles. None of those could be considered even mildly strenuous activities. "Tell me, maester. Tell me!"

Pycelle watched him with a dumb expression upon his lined face. He seemed unable to answer even the easiest of questions. Much annoyed at the fact and saddened even more by the tragic blow he'd been dealt, Aerys let go of the man with a sound of disgust. "Never you mind, maester. Leave my sight."

"Your Majesty, I beg pardon. It is not possible to tell the cause of this tragedy," Pycelle said as if woken from stupor. "The Queen, though, is yet young. There is no reason for which she mightn't soon find herself with child again."

"Fool!" Aerys yelled, his face contorting in rage. "You moronic, incompetent, inept fool! Do you think it is any consolation to be that Rhaella will carry again? Do you think that somehow smoothes the matter over?" He waves his hand frantically, knocking a goblet of wine over. The red liquid spread all over the flat surface of the table, seeping into parchments and wood and dripping over the edge onto the awaiting floor which drank in every drop.

"Apologies, Your Majesty," the man began again. He murmured a few words Aerys could not, and did not, wish to understand. He bowed and pleaded and then spoke again of the many uncertainties which plagued the practice of the healing arts.

But the King had long since lost any interest in Pycelle and the glided lies he fed to everyone that crossed his path. With a disgruntled look, he ordered the man away and savagely kicked over a chair. The innocent piece of carved food fell onto the ground with a satisfying loud sound. It did not splinter, but Aerys thought he saw a crack appear on it. He watched it for some time, contemplating the feebleness of all things.

He had thought to find some peace in Rhaella and their children. But his poor sister had not been able to give that to him. It was no fault of hers, Aerys was sure. It must have been Pycelle that did something to her. Or mayhap one of her ladies; they must have tired his sister out with silly games and foolish talk of inconsequential matters.

He could not remain within the cursed walls of the keep much longer, else he would go insane.

Aerys wandered the halls for some time, with no aim or purpose in mind, but as a ghost might drift through once familiar surroundings. It seemed to him that the whole world had tipped on its axis, for how could one take so many successive blows and not bent knees under the pressure of such heavy burdens. He wished to fall to the ground and never get up. Perpetual rest was his one desire and the one thing he knew he could not have.

The realm, may the Seven curse it, had brought him nothing but trouble. Aerys sometimes thought that it was his father's little jest to have passed the crown to him. The one who should have ruled was not him, nor his father. Duncan should have assumed his duties as king. But instead he'd chosen to make trouble for everyone and follow his heart. Aerys' own father had followed in his brother's path and taken to bride his own sister. Those time, Aerys had been assured by many an older lord, were troubles, uncertain and they'd served to bring worry and strife. The fifth Aegon should have ruled with an iron fist instead of allowing his children to run about wild and unmanaged.

"I should like to have a word or two with him," Aerys muttered, thinking about his grandfather. Just to explain to the old man some very important matters. Like how one should first know what goes on in their own backyard and only then what happens in the house of the neighbours. A pity that lesson had not been well studied.

But he could no longer waste time, Aerys decided. He he'd put off seeing his sister long enough. Squaring his shoulders like a soldier might before the battle, he adopted his most usual mien â€“ the one used whenever he attended council meeting â€“ and strode through the hallways to Rhaella's chambers.

His sister had not lingered in bed, Aerys knew not why. She had instead, seated herself in a chair by the window, not even the slight fever the maester had spoken of being a deterrent in her path. When he caught her attention, Rhaella's mouth dropped in a grimace and her eyes filled with tears. Knowing her aversion to others seeing her thus, Aerys promptly ordered away all of her women with a careless wave of his hand. "Leave us. I wish to speak with my Queen."

As soon as they were gone, Rhaella offered him a tiny smile of gratitude. "You are so good to me," she claimed. The women held a hand out. Aerys took it in his own and stroked his thumb along her knuckles. If were truly good to her, he would have been there the first thing. Not wishing to shatter her illusion, Aerys bent down to press a kiss to her slightly clammy forehead.

"Is there anything you wish for?" he asked. "Anything I may get you?"

"Our son," Rhaella whispered. "I want to have Rhaegar here with me."

And that was all she needed to say upon the matter for Aerys to have their son sent for.

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Are you certain you shall be fine on your own?” Aerys questioned for the hundredth time, wrapping an arm around his sister. “I do not have to go if you need me here.”

It was rather sweet of him. Rhaella looked at her husband with kind eyes and an easy smile. He had been so very attentive towards her; the worry had left marks of weariness on his face, from the small creases around his eyes that should not have been there, not at his age, to the gauntness of his cheek. In fact, with enough attention it could be observed that he had lost some weight. It could have been the worries of the realm that had brought him in such a state or mayhap other matters, but Rhaella could not bring herself to demand an answer from him.

It was often better to not know. Aerys would not appreciate being pestered, nor would he speak of those matters if he did not wish to, despite any of Rhaella’s attempts to coax information out of him. Rhaella hummed softly, taking her time in considering the words she would next speak to her dear brother.

“I shall likely always have need of you,” she spoke, wrapping her own arms around him. “But not so much that a short absence would shake me too much. Besides, brother mine, you have always wished to travel north. This is the perfect moment to do so.”

He had felt trapped, she knew. Rhaella was very much aware that the untimely death of their child, or rather the fact that the poor creature never even had a chance, had been the final blow in a series of many others and perhaps, being so close to the loss of Joanna, it had proved too much for Aerys. It was only natural that her brother would need time to rest and recuperate, just as she herself had need of such.

“If you are certain,” Aerys murmured. “I shan’t be gone long. Lord Stark has been insisting upon this for some time and I am willing to humour him for now, but I fear it shall be much too cold there.” He kissed the top of her head, lips pressing over silver curls. “Won’t you change your mind and comer with me?”

“Nay,” Rhaella laughed, pushing him away softly. “You know I do not endure the cold graciously. Nor the long journey up the Kingsroad.” It was rather well known that she could not travel long distances and keep about herself an amiable disposition. Such was her own strangeness. “If you should write, I shall be very well pleased indeed.”

“Then I shall,” Aerys answered, disengaging from her hold.

He would not remain in her bedchamber. It had been strictly forbidden by the Grand Maester. Apparently, she needed time to recover and a certain amount of peace if she to ever bear fruit again. As it was, Pycelle was not much assured of her ability. But Rhaella had sworn to herself that she would not be at ease until she had provided at least one more child to her King.

The realm needed stability. And that could only be achieved if she played her part accordingly. “I want you to bring me something though, if it can be had.“

“Anything that you want,” her brother promised. He had been walking towards the door, but her voice halted his steps and made him turn towards her. His lilac eyes sparkled in the light.

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

  
The road north was fairly easy to travel despite the light snowfall that had been cast from above for days and days. Aerys was not quite as pleased about the dreadful cold, but he could like with it. “Your Majesty,” the Bull called to him from somewhere behind, “is that not the banner of House Stark I see?”

“Not one of you is to have any duty for the duration of our stay,“ Aerys instructed, considering that, aye, that was the Stark banner. Lord Stark was riding out to meet them, likely. Aerys dug his heels into the sides of his steed and gave a low whistle. The beast snorted, but quickened its pace, galloping across the frost covered road. The cold wind whipped across his face. Aerys persisted.

The closer he got, the better he could make out shapes of riders. Indeed, Lord Stark had come out of his keep to meet him on the road. Knowing well enough that his men would follow, Aerys hastened forth without a glance back. He reached the group of Northerners without much strife and pulled on the reins of his horse. Having been dressed as a simple knight to make matters easier for all involved, he wondered if Lord Stark would know him, having not been present at his coronation. But he was pleasantly surprised to find it not so.

“Splendid form, Your Majesty,” a man he supposed to be Rickard Stark spoke. Lord Stark gave a low chuckle. “Aye, I see we’ve astounded you. You bear a strong likeness to your father,” was next offered by way of explanation.

“Lord Stark, you knew my father well, then?” A likeness indeed. Aerys had always thought that he rather took after mother.

“Not as well as I should have liked to,” the Northerner settled the matter. He seemed to be a pleasant enough man. Aerys noted the bulky form and thought to himself that Lord Stark must have fought some battles during his lifetime. He was older than the King, to be sure, perhaps in his thirties. In possession of a long face with small blue eyes nearly hidden by his eyebrows, a thin mouth that curled downwards just so and a strange scar running down his cheek, Rickard Stark was quite the sight. Aerys had little doubt that on a field of battle, he would prove a worthy foe.

Shaking the thoughts away, the King nodded his head in reply. “Is the weather always so pleasant around these parts?” he could not help but ask.

The company of men took it as a compliment. “There is nothing quite like a Northern winter,” Stark assured him. “Your Majesty is sure to grow fond of the biting chill. Not much different than a nagging woman to be sure.” That set the mood even further.

To be sure, Aerys had no misgivings about visiting with any of the realm’s lords. But he did think he’d struck gold, as it were, with this particular lord. “Well, perhaps there might be some allowances until I get use to the tart tongue of this wench.”

They were on their way quick enough after that. Winterfell was a great massive stone keep, spanning several acres to the best of Aerys’ knowledge. But even having read about it, the sight still produced a shiver of amazement. It was as if he were meeting a giant. Lord Stark ushered him past the tall gate, leading everyone into a wide courtyard where more than a few people had already gathered. Aerys paid them little mind, too busy looking around.

But then, it was time to be courteous. He dismounted, refusing the help offered to him by one of the servants and looked at Lord Stark. He was walking towards a young woman who bore him a slight resemblance. There was an air of familiarity to her that the King could not quite place. He followed Lord Stark.

“Your Majesty, this here is my lady wife, Lyarra of House Stark.” It made everything clearer. They were of the same house. The woman dipped into a curtsey, graceful as a doe. He heard her speak a greeting and offered an automatic reply, too busy studying her.

She was quite slight of frame, petite, more so than his Rhaella. Fine dark hair adorned her head, falling in thick, lustrous waves. It reached well past her middle. In Northern fashion, she kept it unbound, but there was a single flower nestled to the side, caught in her tresses with some womanly magic the King would never truly understand.

She rose and he took a good look at her face. Unlike her husband, she was young, somewhere in her early twenties, he should think. Grey eyes watched him from a fine-boned, narrow and long face. A small smile adorned her full lips. “Your Majesty honours us with his presence,” a soft voice carried to his ears.

“I should have arrived all the faster had I know what treasure hides behind these walls.” His compliment was met with a thrilling, quiet laughter from the woman and an indulgent smile from the husband. Aerys looked away and finally noticed, peeking from behind the woman’s skirts, a small head.

“I suppose the shy fellow there is your son,” he nodded towards the child, giving him an encouraging smile.

“That would be my youngest,” Lord Stark allowed. “Come Ned, let go of your mother’s skirts and bow properly to His Majesty.”

The boy bit into his small, thin lower lip and shuffled away just slightly. Lyarra’s hand came to rest on his head. “Just do as mother taught you,” she spoke lovingly to the child. Aerys, remembering his own son in that moment, could not help but feel touched at the sight of the two. The child bowed to him, stiff and clumsy.

“Well done,” Aerys said, lowering himself down on one knee. The child could not be more than a couple of years old. “I daresay I should take you to King’s Landing with me when I leave so you may show my own son how to go about his bows.” He patted the child’s head. “What of your oldest then?”

“Brandon has caught a chill, Your Majesty,” he heard Lyarra Stark speak, her voice disembodied as his eyes were still trained on the little boy whose curiosity had engulfed the shyness. “Ned, Eddard,” she amended, “would not be dissuaded from coming though.”

Ned had grabbed onto the pin of his cloak, tracing the three heads of the dragon. His mother was quick to notice it. “Ned, daerling, do not do that. Apologies, Your Majesty, he is still curious about all things under the sun.”

“’Tis well, Lady Stark,” Aerys said, hoisting the child up in his arms. “Curiosity is a good trait to have. And I’ve a deal of experience with it. My own child still hasn’t outgrown it and he’s had four times your son’s span to.”

“Rhaegar, he is named, your son, is he not?” She questioned, holding her hands out for the child. “Come to mother, Ned.” The boy was transferred into her embrace.

“Aye.” His answer was met with a strong clap on the shoulder from Lord Stark and an invitation to proceed within the keep.

Lady Stark was a diligent hostess and her husband, though of a less mercurial disposition, was pleasant company. And Winterfell was not quite as cold as his wife had expected it would be. Aerys had asked about it. “The keep has been built over pools of heated water,” Lord Stark had explained, inviting him to touch a hand to one of the walls. “Pipes carry the heated water throughout the castle.”

The feast given in his honour was lively, merry and quite soothing to him. He allowed himself to be lost in the food and drink. Even going as far as leading one or two Northerner ladies onto the floor for a dance. Who had ever called them savages, for so it was often said of the North, had had the wrong of it. They were undoubtedly a pleasant lot, more so than half his court.

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Settling into a pace comfortable for him did not take long. Aerys came to find that Winterfell had much to offer, aside from food and drink. Lady Lyarra had been left in charge of him, as Lord Stark’s presence was requested elsewhere shortly after his arrival. “’Tis of no consequence, Lord Stark one’s own people come first,” he had assured the man.

He had even met Brandon Stark, though the boy could not yet be allowed out of bed. “He is sour of mood, You Majesty,” the mother had warned him. But Aerys had his own son, who could at times be quite difficult. Brandon Stark was about as curious as his younger brother who had taken to following the King around the keep, much to his mother’s embarrassment. “They are hellions the both of them.” Except they weren’t.

“I’ve yet to see better behaved children,” he had laughed.

“Only because Your Majesty is yet of interest to them.” Despite those words, Lady Stark was as loving a mother as Rhaella was to their son. She looked after the well-fare of her children and guarded and guided them. Aerys had not doubt that she would lay down her own life for the two if the situation called for it.

The thought was quite surprising when one contemplated it.

That he should develop a fondness for the woman did not astound him any. Aerys was wont to feel attracted to warm creatures. What did seem out of ordinary was that his attraction was not quite of the kind he would have it.

It first occurred to him when Lyarra led him into the Library Tower, speaking about some old scrolls and books she was certain he would find entertaining. “To be sure, Your Majesty, ‘tis a pity you’ve not brought your son along, if he loves reading as much as you say.”

She was holding one of the scrolls out to him and as his hand wrapped around it, their skin touched. It felt like a shock, like a spark of lightning. It seared. And they both froze, he narrowing his eyes to fix her with a hard glance, she with a wide-eyed gaze and lips slightly parted. It took all his willpower to shake away the daze and draw himself back from her.

Uneasy laughter made its way past her lips. “It must have been a draft,” she murmured. Her cheeks grew warm with colour. “Apologies, Your Grace.”

“No need, Lady Stark,” he returned but a moment later. Holding the scroll, he unravelled it, pretending an interest in the words. “I should might be leave you to your tasks.”

It was as much a dismissal as he could give her, and she understood. Lyarra took her leave and did not return until much later, Ned in her arms and Benjen holding onto her skirts.

Aerys was with all his might praying that Lord Stark returned soon.

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“My lord husband has been detained,” she told him when he finally gathered the courage to ask about the prolonged absence. By way of proof she presented him with a small piece of paper. Aerys read it over and over again. His tongue felt thick in his mouth and his heart had risen up in his throat.

Lyarra Stark went on to finish her morning meal, though there was a subtle tension to her shoulders. “Might be Your Majesty should wish to see the godswood.”

“I would like that, my lady,” he allowed after a moment’s consideration.

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

What demon possessed him to kiss her before the weirwood’s frozen blood-red eyes, Aerys would never know. He was completely taken aback by the surge of desire he felt for the woman and, quite without thinking, cupped her face and bent her head lightly, so as to better reach her lips.

And gods forgive them, she kissed him back. And didn’t stop, not even as his hands fell to her waist and he dragged her lithe body against his.

How they stumbled back to the keep together, he forgot as soon as it happened. A sort of madness was burning in his veins as they hurried along the corridors together, her hand in his and her whispers ringing in his ears. “This way, Your Majesty.”

“Aerys, you must call me Aerys,” he insisted, as she opened the door to her bedchamber and ushered him inside, with a look down the hallway.

“Aerys then,” she agreed, closing the door and blocking it with a thick iron bar.

His fingers were already working at the laces on the side of her overdress by the time she turned around. Lyarra wrapped her arms around him and rose, like a wave, for another kiss. Their lips met in a small, sweet touch. She allowed him to discard her of all her clothes first, waiting patiently as his admiring gaze shifted over her form.

She was small, delicate, softly rounded from her earlier births and warm, so very warm. She tugged on his own garb, shedding the articles one by one with a careful touch. They made their way to the bed, a mess of rubbing limbs and grabby fingers. Lyarra took him I with a gentle intake of breath, hips splayed wide, accommodating. Small fingers wound their way into his hair, pulling and tugging until his mouth was above hers. She kissed him and rolled her hips to meet his trusts.

There was nothing outside of the two of them in that blissful moment. Aerys felt no shame, nor guilt. All that he knew was the woman beneath him, her moans of pleasure and the slow breaking apart of his own world, his universe colliding into her, until both were out of breath, slick-skinned and shuddering upon the bed.

He drew out of her at a long length, moving his weight to her side, the mattress dipping. Her head turned, forehead pressing into his shoulder. Warm breath poured over damp skin. In the quiet of the room, he could heart the twin rhythms of their hearts. And it made sense for some off reason.

And then it didn’t. Lust slaked, Aerys opened his eyes to look at the woman lying by his side. She watched him with wide eyes, as if afraid. What had they done, she seemed to ask. What had they done, he mirrored her expression unconsciously.

“Good gods,” she shuddered past chattering teeth. “Your Majesty, I –,” the words died upon her lips. “Gods, gods,” the woman murmured, her body moving, as if to turn away from him.

Aerys pressed an arm to her waist, holding her down. She didn’t struggle against it. What was done was done. “Lady Stark, do not lose yourself,” he said, trying to find a solution to their predicament. He swallowed thickly. “Naught is amiss.”

“I shudder to think what Your Majesty thinks of me now,” he heard her say as she pushed his arm away and moved slightly out of reach. Aerys turned to look at her edging towards the end of the bed. A small spark of desire flickered to life once more but he drowned it in stern discipline. One time might be considered a mistake, but a second would be choice.

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When Lord Stark returned, he seemed to sense nothing amiss in his household. “I take it my lady wife has pleased Your Majesty well,” he had said jovially, wrapping an arm around Lyarra’s waist and looking after Ned who had caught onto Brandon to keep from falling.

Lyarra had flushed and her whole frame trembled lightly. Her eyes had begged him to protect them both. “Lord Stark, your lady wife is a matchless hostess.” And he had left it at that. Gods, but did his teeth ache from all the grinding when the man bent to press a swift kiss to his lady’s lips and she accepted the touch.

The strange feeling would not let him be. He found himself tossing and turning the nights away,, wondering if Lord Stark kept to his bedchamber or climbed into his lady wife’s bed. The image evoked did not sit well with him. He would have hurled with it had he been less dignified. Lyarra Stark was not his, he reprimanded himself swiftly. He would not make a debacle of his visit to the North.

His resolve was, of course, tested by numerous meetings with Lady Stark on stairwells and gardens and under weirwoods. His determination, somewhat chipped and frayed at the looks she kept sending his way was stretched thin by the end of his stay. Lord Stark had begun pushing for him to lift some of the taxes imposed on the Northerner traders and Aerys wondered if giving in to such demands would earn him some leeway with the fair lady.

The thought made him sick. He could not demean her thus. And yet, the heart knew no right or wrong, it just knew desire.

“Lord Stark, I’ve a mind to consider your request,” he said in the end. “Let us say I shall lift some of the taxes. May I then have the pleasure of your presence in King’s Landing for what is left of the year?” It was devils, sly and it made him feel shame, but Aerys pushed all that away.

“Your Majesty is very kind,” the man had laughed. “I suppose my wife would like it. She has not left the North since the birth of our youngest.” The gods knew Aerys would like it. He watched the man intently, willing him to accept. “Very well, I suppose I must.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lyarra came to him that night, wrapped in a fur and with a frown on her face. “What have you done, Your Majesty?” she asked, her hands clasping at his arm. “Why are you so cruel? To bring me to King’s Landing and keep me in your presence, shall I not wilt at seeing and never being able to touch?”

“You shan’t wilt,” he promised, talking her into his arms. She struggled out the fur covering her. “We will simply have to find something for Lord Stark to do while there.”

Fear and regret marred her features even as she fused her lips to him. “Gods, this is wrong.” It was so very wrong. “And yet my heart would call it right.”

It was a choice, after that, to bed with her again. A dangerous, reckless choice that made his blood burn and his heart beat faster, faster, faster still. It made him feel alive. She made him feel alive, wrapped around him, sweet and loving. “Lyarra Stark, what have you done to me?” he asked her after as they lied together, fingers combing through her hair.

“Nothing more than you have done to me,” she whispered back, fingers tracing a path down his chest. “I cannot stay, Your Majesty.” She looked up into his face.

“I know.” It would be more than just a scandal if anyone found them abed together. He helped her dress and saw her to the door, though he did not allow her to leave until he had kissed her a few more times. She kissed him back with as much passion. “Gods, woman. What am I to do now?”

Lyarra offered a small, sad smile. “What all men do,” she replied. “I shall see you on the morrow, Your Majesty.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Little Ned Stark clutched the pin in his flailing hand and Brandon bravely made his bow, much like a little soldier seeking the battle. Lyarra dipped into an elegant curtsy and Lord Stark saw him to the wheelhouse.

With a slight pang he accepted Lord Stark’s well-wishes. “It was my pleasure to be in your home, Lord Stark. I can but hope to provide an equal experience.” He looked over the man’s shoulder to Lyarra. She had scooped up her youngest son and was whispering into his ear. “I shall see you in King’s landing then.”

“Be it as Your Majesty wills it.” And that was that.

And so, Aerys began the journey back home, to where is sister was waiting. He wondered what she would make of it. Rhaella had never demanded his fidelity, and yet, he still felt uneasy. If only father had allowed her to wed a man of her choosing. They might have both been joyful instead of trapped. But nay, the words of a witch were much too important apparently. He could only hope all would turn out well.

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Maester Walys shrugged helplessly at the contorted look of rage on his master’s face. What was there to be said in such circumstances? The words had left him. He looked upon the weeping lady, hiding her face away. She had not ceased in begging for forgiveness despite the bloodied lip.

Like a caged beast, Lord Stark paced the floors, seemingly deep in thought upon the matter. There was naught consolation to be given. “Shall I bring the draught, my lord?” the maester questioned in the end when he could no longer stand the soft weeping of Lyarra.

Good gods, but how had she managed to do this harm unto them? And without his notice too. To have sired a child and in so blatant a time of her husband’s absence.

“I shall take it, my lord. I swear,” Lyarra offered from her place.

But her lord husband seemed of a different mind. “Nay. If it be your wish to bring shame upon us, then do so. I shan’t keep you for my wife.”

Jumping from her seat, the woman grabbed onto the man’s hand. “Rickard, it was a mistake. I beg of you, have mercy.”

Shrugging her off with a well-placed shove, the lord wiped his hand upon his tunic. “I take no man’s leavings.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Queen gasped, the silver lock she’d been fiddling with falling away. Her lady-in-waiting nodded her head, the serious mien not disappearing. “I swear upon the Mother, Your Majesty, that is what I heard. Her lord husband himself wrote.” It was good that he’d written and not brought his army over. The other woman looked down at her feet. “I have paid him a string of pearls for this news. And even so he asked of me two more Silver Stags. ‘Tis said His majesty ordered every tongue who spoke these words removed.”

“Worry not,” Rhaella consoled the woman. “You tongue is safe. Should the news spread about, however,” she trailed off, allowing the warning to settle. “Find me all you can upon this woman.”

She could hardly credit it. Her brother had done reckless things before and she knew him capable of mistakes. Yet never had she imagined it would come to this. And he meant to keep her. Rhaella shook her head. That Lord Stark had opted not for the way of weapons was to their great fortune.

There had to be something to deflect the disaster. Something that might convince even Lord Stark it would be folly to expose his own wife in such a manner. But what? What could possibly be done to achieve such a result?

“Mother have mercy,” the Queen muttered under her breath. Levies and taxes, political power. Certainly Lord Stark would not wish to remain within the capitol. What then? What could possibly offer succour? “Out of all the woman in the Seven Kingdoms, it had to be the most unfortunate choice.”

If only she had gone with him. It might be that he would not have been tempted in the way he was. The folly of men, the suffering of women. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

Rhaella cringed softly at the look upon her brother’s face. But still she did not back down. “You have no recourse. ‘Tis your own bed you have made.” She told it not with malice. “And if this babe be yours, ‘twould be unfair to her that you have washed your hands clean of the duty.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

Amberly Hall received Lyarra with all the reluctance she had expected. Grateful though she be to the King for having arranged for it, Lyarra could barely look her sister in the eyes and not wither with shame. Branda, of different stock altogether, regarded the younger sibling with all the affection one had for a pot of gold.

“Do not expect that you shall get away with any sort of tomfoolery behind the walls of my keep,” the older sister warned. “I am doing this as a loyal subject only.”

“I know. I am grateful to you, sister.” Though she spoke the words, Lyarra felt herself become ice. She could but endure. For the child, her child.

“So you should,” Branda huffed. “I was of a mind not to take you in at all. It is no business of mine to intervene between spouses.” If there was one matter to be glad of then it had to be that her sister did not yet know the whole truth. For all the good that did Lyarra. “Come now, you look as pale as a ghost. Rest yourself before you fall down.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The letter arrived upon a warm gale. The dark feather carrying it sought to leave the delicate message innocently into the maester’s hand. And from there on it came to the King. Aerys looked in wonder upon the two words penned in thick, dark ink. He could hardly believe his eyes. A sense of elation stole over him before he could put an end to it.

A healthy child. Not one hair out of place.

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Rhaegar scoffed. His eyes had turned towards the lancet, piercing through the distance. “She is not my sister,” the Prince claimed in direct contradiction to the earlier statement. “She is just my father’s bastard.”

Arthur shrugged dismissively. “As you say, Your Grace. Just your father’s daughter.”

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Aerys I

 

 

 

 

 

 

The rhythmic _scritch scrith scritch_ of quill on paper filled the lavishly decorated solar. After years within the chair, Aerys could almost say the sound did not bother him any longer. More pressing matters did, though, and he hadn’t the time to think upon annoying noises.

A rap on the door caused him to pause. He glanced at the wooden structure, as though he’d expected whoever was without would enter any earlier than he ordered. “Come in,” he called, hoping it was not Tywin. The two of them were quite the pair, one missing a wife, the other children. But for all that, he hadn’t a head for politics on that day, and the gods knew Tywin had not come to him with aught else since fair Joanna had been laid to rest.

The years and worries had grown between them even after Aerys released his anger. He sighed as the door opened. It revealed one person he could well stomach.

His long-time companion and official mistress of some years stepped inside, closing the door in her wake, sealing from view the Kingsguards. She gave him a light curtsy while peering at the work on his table. “Your Majesty ought to take some time to rest,” she encourages with a light smile. Moving around the desk to place a hand on his shoulder, Lyarra Stark bent to offer a swift kiss. Like the wings of a butterfly, her lips dusted his. “We worry for your health.” He quirked an eyebrow. “Your sister and I,”

“I am in good health,” he assured her, clasping one of her hands in his as she rested against the edge of the desk. “Forgive me. I have been neglecting you.” He’d not been to her bedchamber since he’d found Rhaella was carrying once more and that had been a couple of moon turns past.

“Your Majesty is a busy man,” she waved the words away. “And I am a patient woman.” He wondered at times how much was patience and how much was impotency. Lyarra had lived at his court for near upon a decade. Her patience, he feared, had endured alongside her need. After all, she’d no other place to turn to.

“How is my sister?” The remarkable thing about having her for a mistress was that, for some odd reason, she and Rhaella had become as close as sisters. Closer even by the way they shadowed one another and fussed over the smallest of things. “And the babe?” Discomfiture rolled through it. Ten years and he’d still not managed a decent score of children. Nowhere near as many as he’d hoped to have.

“Both are well. She says she has a good feeling about this one. Your Majesty, naught is out of place as far as I can tell.” She allowed his embrace when he offered it and even wrapped her arms around him, letting his head rest against her middle. The soft flesh cushioned him. “I believe in her. Your Majesty should as well.”

A bitter chuckle spilled past his lips. He drew her in tighter. “Near two decades and I’ve one son from her. If only the maesters could do aught.” By the gods, they’d tried. All that they knew. But no matter what, his dear wife either miscarried the babe or the child lived for only a short few moon turns. He’d wondered if it was not to do with their blood.

But then, Lyarra had carried only two of his children to term as well. Little Lyanna, whom she’d named for kin of hers in the North, and a boy, Benjen, whom he himself had named a Northerner name to please his mother. But still, in the following years she’d had her fair share of miscarriages and stillbirths. It pained him to no end to be a source of grief to women whom he held in high regard and deep esteem. He’d little to do but resign himself to the truth of the matter.

“’Tis oft a matter which escapes our understanding,” his mistress answered after a brief pause. “We can only hope for better.” The soothing words played against his ear. He’d always enjoyed the way she kept herself levelled. Even when his temper got the better of him, he could count on Rhaella and Lyarra to talk him out of any folly.

Pressing a kiss to the back of her hand, Aerys pulled her into his lap, perching her on his knee. “If ever  we knew might be ‘twould not be well. ‘Tis in the hands of the gods.” She nodded approvingly. “Now, my lady, why is it that you have come to me? Other than my health.”

Her lips parted as though she were to speak, but rather than say words , she clamped her mouth shut and shook her head. That was how Aerys was more than assured aught unpleasant had taken place. His smile receded into a grim frown. “You know I do not enjoy asking. Better that you tell me now.”

At the beginning of their liaison, Lyarra had refused to tell him of any insult dealt her way, he’d thought he’d rectified that by promising never to allow any such episodes to go unpunished. Had he need wrong? For she rarely came to him with such complaints. He’d tried to shelter her.

“’Tis Lyanna, my love,” the she-wolf admitted after the drawn out pause. “She asked me this morn,” her tongue flicked out to lick her lips, “she asked me what a bastard was.”

All his muscles locked tight. “What?” His teeth clenched together so tightly, he feared he might break a few. “Who dared?”

“I know not. She would not say, save to indicate that she’d been called one to her face.” The explanation further roused his ire. 

When his son had been a young lad and Lyanna had just arrived in King’s Landing, he’d said aught to that effect. That was the first and only time Aerys had thrashed the boy, and his mother, bleeding heart that she was, extracted a promise from him that he would never again punish Rhaegar in that manner.  And that was only person to have referred to his daughter as _bastard_ and keep his tongue.

His frown deepened. The memory was not a pleasant one.  It was soon after that his son had been sent away to squire. Better to have him away and deflate all tension, he’d thought at the time. Now though, with the swarming of his lords and courtiers, he rather regretted that decision. Fostering had its benefits, but many of them were lost when one considered the results of such estrangements.    

It was unlikely that his son had come back with a better view if his siblings. And Aerys feared that trying to thrash him a second time would not work quite as it had. There was more than enough trouble brewing with Tywin and Lord Darklyn.

“I will find out who it was.” The promise sent a shiver down her back. He felt it against him when she moved. “I will and when I do, I shall have his tongue pulled out and pinned to his forehead with hot irons.”

“Your Majesty, do not. It would serve little cause.” Her hand rested on his shoulders, fingers digging through the cloth into his skin. “Lyanna shall have to learn to deal with these words. A natural daughter is in the eyes of many just a bastard.”

“Not my daughter,” he roared, rising to his feet so swiftly that she was forced off his lap. He caught her midfall. “They shan’t dare say such words to her face or even whisper again. I promise you.”

“Your Majesty–“

He shushed her, straightening her back upon her feet. “I promise not to harm them.” Nay, what he had in mind would serve the purpose much better. “Go see to my sister, lady. Else the gods help us both.” His hand slid lower, giving her a light pat. “Be off with you then.”    

The lady gave a sigh of her own. “I am going then.” As good as her word, she took the road.

Aerys sat back down, hand reaching out for the quill once more. The thin stem’s split beak carried the remnants of black ink drops, the same shade that had impregnated itself into the skin of his fingers. He looked down at his hand, flexing the fingers around the stalk.

Eyes drifting towards the charter Dorne had received, he considered his options. Lord Darklyn was restless.  Tywin Lannister was determined. Rhaella was thoroughly pregnant and by his order to abide in her chambers and not strain herself with matters of the state. And Lyarra, good advice as she gave in the privacy of her bedchamber, he could hardly have her sit on his council.

His hand moved over the parchment which he felt might be useful in the settling of the matter. His stomach turned. The very thought of facing the challenge made him ill.  

 

 

 

 

 

 


	3. Lyanna I

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Of course not, stupid,” the boy said, cupping a hand over his mouth as he approached, “everyone knows what that is.” Lyanna bit her lower lip, wondering if she ought to go and rescue her brother. “I could tell you if you truly wanted to know,” his playmate offered. On the one hand, he was bound to find out sooner or later. On the other hand, why should he be told in such a manner? “Come closer and I’ll tell you.”

Benjen, bless his soul, innocently approached, seeming genuinely interested. And she knew, somewhere within her, that should she allow him to go through with it and gain the knowledge, she would never quite forgive herself. Her decision half-made, Lyanna scurried out of the protective line of foliage and hurtled her way through the tall grass towards her brother, irreverently knocking the other boy back.

The younger child gasped and caught onto her. “Why did you do that?” Benjen questioned, squeezing her arm tightly. “He was going to tell me–“

“I know what he was going to tell you. And he’s a liar.” Well, not truly. It was not so much a lie, as it was an unappealingly twisted truth. Nonetheless, as the older sister, it was her duty to protect Benjen, even from such unpleasantness as the one this servant boy had been prepared to mete out. “And you, what are you doing to my brother? Haven’t I said to stay away?”

The boy picked himself up. At his full height, he was a good head taller. “What did you push me for?” he sneered. It was clear to her he was more than willing to accept a challenge should she put it forth. It was also quite clear she would not win with this one. Granted, never before had she needed to defend herself.

“What? Didn’t like what the Prince had to say?” The insincere dulcet tone grated on her nerves. Lyanna scowled and flashed her teeth. “Or do you deny ‘tis true?” Benjen fired a couple of questions which were completely ignored. “What are you to go about it?” the child continued to taunt her, apparently lacking any sense of decency. The flaw in the perpetually mean, her septa had told her, was that their callousness stunted and incapacitated any sense of kindness they might have otherwise been expected to exhibit.

Her eyes narrowed, muscles coiling. “This,” she muttered, noting the slight worry in the boy’s eyes. Alas, if he was unconcerned with her feelings or Benjen’s, she was even less concerned with his. Lyanna lunged at him, clawing a steady grip into his tunic. He attempted to shake her off, but she held on for dear life, ignoring her brother’s screeching and the curses coming from her enemy. There was only one thing she knew. He had to pay. “Take it back,” Lyanna demanded, raking her nails across the available expanse of flesh.

It took a good while and an equal good few rivulets of blood for her to win the battle. Nonetheless, victor in this first trial, she exacted from her opponent a prostrate apology and a solemn promise never to appear before her or her brother again.

“But I wanted to know what a bastard is,” Benjen complained after the other boy’s disappearance.

“I promise you shall know some day,” she said after a moment of considering her options. “Now come; mother sent me to find you.” Once more not truly. At the moment their septa was probably looking for them. In an effort to placate the demands of her heart with the rules her head knew, Lyanna brushed her own skirts and then straightened Benjen out. “Our brother is arrived.”

The excited squeal to leave Benjen’s lips left little doubt in her mind where her unknowing brother stood upon the matter. She took him by the hand and led him away, having already spotted their carer making her way out the keep’s door into the inner yard. She saw them as well, for her mien caught a slightly disapproving cast and she urged them over. “My lady, come, there is no time to dawdle.” It was on the tip of her tongue to correct her, but Lyanna did not. Though she knew herself to be no true lady, they would continue to address her so.  Very well, for she meant to borrow the daring of a lady in the moments which would follow.

Trudging alongside her brother, Lyanna was not surprised to see them both of them brought to the King’s private solar. Ushered within, she spent a few precious moments identifying her target. Easily done, for the Prince wore the customary Targaryen cloak.

“Lyanna, Benjen,” the Queen called, her smiling mien radiant, “come greet your brother.”

The young man turned around, levelling them with a cool glance. Benjen either did not notice or did not care to take note of it, he bowed and offered a greeting. She, on the other hand remained ramrod straight. “Lyanna,” her own mother prodded softly, “greet His Grace.”

“I shall,” she agreed, “just as soon as he apologises.”

A hush fell over the premises at her words. All eyes rested upon her. Confusion was evident. “Apologise?” her dratted Prince questioned, disbelief tinging that single utterance. “What would I apologise to you for?”

“Apologise to me and my brother,” Lyanna corrected. “Apologise for calling us bastards so publicly.” Her father was on his feet, demanding to know what was going on. “We may have been born bastards but at least we’ve been raised better than to cast unfounded judgement. As for you, Your Grace, you will have your greeting when I have my apology.” She squared her shoulders.

“Rhaegar, what is she talking about?” the King managed with a tad more decorum than his last intervention.

“I have just returned; how would I know?” the Prince protested, scowling.

“I still do not know what a bastard is,” Benjen contributed, tugging on Lyanna’s sleeve.

“Your brother shall explain to you what that is, since he saw fit to saddle us with it.”        

     

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary of this chapter:
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> In other words, don't bait wolves, they bite back.


End file.
